


Don't Blow Our Cover

by Meilan_Firaga



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Foreplay, Getting Together, Matchmaking, Mild Smut, Mission Fic, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27181819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meilan_Firaga/pseuds/Meilan_Firaga
Summary: In hindsight, Sam never should have agreed to go undercover with Natasha. Posing as married was just going to make it too hard to keep his growing feelings for her at bay.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson
Comments: 14
Kudos: 27





	Don't Blow Our Cover

“This ain’t exactly what I thought I was signing up for when Steve asked me to go undercover to get information.”

Above the bed a ceiling fan turned, its blades casting a faint shadow against the textured ceiling. Sam Wilson lay on his back with his hands clasped over his stomach. The sheet was folded down at his waist, tucked around him on either side. He was grateful the double bed was a queen instead of a full. It left a little more room between them.

“Really?” Natasha asked from the next pillow over. “This is exactly how I thought things were going to go.”

The mission was simple. Infiltrate a small group of wealthy young ne’er-do-wells that had thrown a considerable number of dollars in HYDRA’s direction prior to the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. The suspicion was that at least one of the couples belonged to a family that had benefited from the services of The Winter Soldier at some point in recent memory and knew more about where the remains of the organization had gone underground than they were letting on. Sam and Natasha were meant to kill two birds with one stone: get more intel on potential HYDRA bases so the Avengers could do their thing, and hopefully get some hints as to where Steve’s brother-from-another had gone to ground after he yanked the star-spangled punching bag out of the Potomac.

Steve, of course, was not the least bit able to handle undercover work. His face had been known all across the U.S. for the better part of a century. Plus, he could barely tell a lie to save his life, just too honest for his own good. Sam, though, had somehow not even made the news for his involvement in the fall of the Triskelion. He had his suspicions that Nick Fury had something to do with it, but he wasn’t about to complain. Ready to save the world was one thing. Ready to have his face on the news alongside Captain America and the rest of the Avengers? He was going to need to work up to that.

Romanov, of course, was always ready for undercover work. It didn’t matter that she’d been on every news channel in the country since the data dump. She didn’t even need the make-up, wigs, or photostatic veils that she was so proficient in using to convince people that she wasn’t the Black Widow. She’d been a spy for so long and was so damn good that the job that she could be standing in front of poster of herself face-to-face with a member of HYDRA that she’d met before and still somehow convince them that she was just Naomi from Kansas who thought people were crazy to say she was as pretty as that Avenger on TV.

It was both impressive and terrifying.

So, the two of them had packed up an impressive number of suitcases and moved up to a ‘cottage’ in the Hamptons. By cottage, of course, they really meant a beach house that was practically a seaside mansion. Natasha wore pearls and sundresses under cardigans, successfully navigating even the sandiest of beaches in heels with a demure smile painted on her lips. Sam took to wearing pastel button-downs and khakis with sweaters draped over his shoulders. It wasn’t a look that he much preferred, but even he had to admit that it worked for him. Pepper Potts had sat down with him herself to go over the types of mannerisms he’d need to adopt to convince their marks that he was raised with old money. They’d even concocted a ‘poor boy adopted out of the ghetto by a wealthy childless couple’ backstory to better sell the bit. 

He tried not to think about how playing to rich white folks’ racist ideologies was a guaranteed way to get them believing a cover. He was going to see if Colonel Rhodes wanted to get real drunk about it together when the whole mess was over.

Somehow, though, Sam hadn’t considered what lengths they might have to go to in order to sell their marriage. Like sharing a bed.

They hadn’t even been in town for a day when they were alerted that the beach house was being watched. Their tech meant nobody would be able to get ears in the place, something Stark had disguised so it would just look like the house was built to withstand nasty storms and screwed with cell and radio reception, but that didn’t mean any eyes on the place wouldn’t be able to see if they slept in separate rooms. On the one hand it was nice to have confirmation that their target was taking an early interest in them, but on the other hand it mean they weren’t going to be able to turn off their behavior when they closed the door and shut out the rest of the Hamptons each night. Which wouldn’t have been a problem if it weren’t for the fact that Sam hadn’t been able to stop nursing a little crush on his ‘wife’ from the moment they met. He could play up his attraction to her in public for the mission without a problem, but he’d been hoping he’d be able to close the bedroom door and decompress a bit from it before bed each night. He needed that distance or he was afraid he’d start believing that there was something between them. 

Yet, there he was. In bed with her. Barely a foot of space between them on the mattress.

She rolled up on her side to face him, propping her head in one hand. Logically, he knew that she was wearing a tank and sleep shorts, but with only the moonlight through the window backlighting her figure it was entirely too easy to imagine her naked beneath the sheets. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing the thoughts away.

“Do you think this counts as our wedding night?” she teased. He could actually hear the smirk in her voice.

“Romanov,” he growled, rolling over to put his back to her. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

_ ~*~*~*~*~*~ _

Sunlight woke him, bright shafts of golden light peeking through the sheer curtains to fall directly over his eyes when the Earth’s closest star rose above the neighbor’s roof. He screwed them tightly shut, tilting his chin down so the light hit his forehead instead in an attempt to escape the assault on his senses. He was warm, a sort of languid heat that reminded him of a relaxing bath or being snuggled up under a blanket on a cold winter’s night. He started to reposition his arms, ready to move into a lazy stretch, and his eyes flew open as he came to the very sudden realization that all that warmth was the direct result of being spooned tightly against the back of Natasha Romanov.

“Good morning, soldier.”

A Natasha Romanov who was apparently already awake.

Sam opened his mouth, trying and failing to come up with any kind of excuse for why he’d wound up in a full on cuddle during the night, but even if he could have found the words she didn’t give him a chance to get them out. Natasha shifted in the circle of his arms, her body undulating beneath the covers before she pressed further back against him. It was morning, and he was definitely a normal, red-blooded man. He bit into his bottom lip hard, forcing himself not to push his hips forward into her in search of more friction.

"Is that a flashlight in your pocket or are you just happy to—"

"For the sake of our professional relationship I'm gonna need you to not finish that sentence,” he huffed through gritted teeth. “I am embarrassed enough as it is.”

“Why?” She gave another little wiggle that had him reciting multiplication tables in his head to keep his cool and actually tugged at his wrists to pull his arms tighter around her chest. “No need to be embarrassed when I’m not exactly trying to get away.”

He swallowed and took a deep breath to try and quiet the roar of blood pounding in his ears. His heart was pounding. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re not this stupid, Sam,” she insisted, laughing lightly. “Do you really think we need this whole undercover debacle to get intel on these guys? Stark’s AI can hack their bank accounts and track the money in seconds.”

“So, why the cloak and dagger approach?”

“The surveillance team watching the house? That’s Rogers and Hill.” She moved again, rolling her hips against his in a way that couldn’t be anything but suggestive. “They’re matchmaking, since you keep dodging all my very legitimate come-ons.”

His brain short-circuited. His next words came out like an accusation. “You’ve been hitting on me.”

“Since the day I picked up Steve for the Lumerian Star mission.”

Sam pried his arms from around her, took her by the shoulder, and rolled her over to face him. She looked at him like she wanted to eat him alive. “This better not be a joke, Romanov.”

“I’d rather you call me Natasha,” she purred. Lifting her knee beneath the sheets, she wrapped her leg around his hips, drawing him in until he was pressed up against her center. She rolled her hips again, drawing a ragged moan from his throat. “What’s it going to take to get you to break? Or are you just not interested?”

“Oh, I’m interested,” he assured her, rocking his own hips right back against her. She let out a tiny gasp, her pupils blown wide. He used the momentary distraction to take hold of her wrists, pinning both of her arms above her head. “I’m just wondering whether or not you deserve to be punished for not being blunt and saving Steve and the others the trouble.”

Natasha laughed. “Oh, come on,” she teased. “Can you really say you don’t like the idea of screwing with them? Tony practically set us up with a week’s vacation in the Hamptons. Imagine the fun we could have letting them believe we’re still dancing around one another when secretly…” She trailed off, wrapped her other leg around the small of his back, and arched up into him. Her teeth closed lightly on his earlobe for a brief moment before she continued in a whisper. “We just have to keep them from finding out while we play their little game.”

“You’re evil,” he quipped before pressing a biting kiss against her collarbone. “We’ll have to be careful about marks, you know. We’re at a beach.” He let go of her wrists in favor of propping himself on one hand while he threaded the other through her hair. He kissed his way up the column of her throat to her jaw, closed his hand into a fist, and yanked just hard enough to force her to look him in the eye. “This isn’t just a one mission thing, right?”

“If it were, I’d be in bed with the mark instead of my partner.” She strained against his grip on her hair, trying and failing to reach his lips. “I’m not used to dancing around my meaning, Sam. If I didn’t want more than a fling I wouldn’t have been floundering so bad with getting your attention that  _ Rogers _ —Mr. Play-the-Slow-Game himself—would decide he had to give my love life a hand.” She bit her lip, looking away for a moment. Her cheeks grew red. “Clint’s been giving me shit about this for weeks.”

Reassured, Sam grinned. He released the fist in her hair, took her chin in hand, and turned her face back so he could look her in the eye. “Well, then.” He leaned down and kissed her lightly, lingering only a moment before he pulled back. “Let’s see how long we can keep them from figuring it out.”


End file.
